Confessions and Kisses
by nocturne-du-corbeau
Summary: John gets ill, and Sherlock is a human with a heart after all. Fluff. Sherlock is slightly OOC but I have my reasons for that. This is my first fic and it is written with a partner. Review FAIRLY, but most importantly: enjoy. Rated M to play it safe. Also: obviously Sherlock belongs to Gatiss and Moffatt and the characters belong to SIr ACD, not to me.
1. Chapter 1

Where are you? I was just talking to you a moment ago. -SH

Got sick, I don't think you'd appreciate me throwing up on you. Don't come in here, Sherlock, I don't want you catching it. -JW

Nonsense. Shall I get Mrs. Hudson to make tea? -SH

Ugh. Fine. –JW  
Don't blame me if the both of you catch this though. –JW  
It's not pleasant. -JW

I'll blame you if I bloody want to. -SH

I think it has to do with copious amounts of rotting flesh in the fridge I eat from. –JW  
Blame yourself. -JW

"Mrs. Hudson!" There is no response. "MRS. HUDSON," Sherlock yells from the couch.  
I need those. They're important specimens. Eat elsewhere. -SH

Sherlock. –JW  
Sherlock I could have done that. -JW

Mrs. Hudson arrives in the doorway, "What is it now, Sherlock?"

Shouting does nothing but ruin your throat. -JW

Nonsense, John. You're ill. My throat is fine. –SH  
"Mrs. Hudson, John has fallen ill. Will you make him a cuppa?"

You're verbally abusing Mrs H because I'm sick wow -JW

"Not your housemaid," she replies.

Quiet you. You're sick. I'd be verbally abusing her even if you weren't. -SH

Hardly fair for her! She's a person too, Sherlock. -JW

Would you rather make yourself some tea? -SH

I would. –JW  
You know, if I weren't hugging a trash bin. -JW

"Mrs. Hudson, you make simply the BEST tea in the flat, and John is ill. Would you mind?" Sherlock feigns sweetness in only the way he can.  
Then let Mrs. Hudson take care of it. And hugging an inanimate object will do you no good. -SH

Careful Sherlock, you might sound like you cared about me. –JW  
But in case you couldn't tell, I'm only hugging it so I don't miss. -JW

Maybe I do –SH  
And as I said, hugging an inanimate object will do you no good. Try a human instead. -SH

Nobody wants to hug me right now Sherlock I'm a bloody mess -JW

There may be someone out there willing to hug a poor soul in a pathetic state such as yours -SH

I'll give you a potato if you can find them for me. -JW

What would I do with a potato, John? –SH  
Also, I believe I found him...or her. The person willing to do the hugging. -SH

Six potato if you bring them to me because I seriously need a hug. -JW

Sherlock knocks on John's door.


	2. Chapter 2

John let his phone stay on the floor, and tilted his head towards the door. "Come in?" he called, more of a question. He was lying on the ground, the wooden floors cooling his cheek. He'd be in his bed, but honestly the sheets would make him sweat more than he'd like.

Sherlock opens the door; he looks around briefly before noticing John lying on the floor. He crouches next to him and then sits on the floor, lifting John's head to his chest and putting his arms around John's shoulders.

"No," he said as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, "you don't get potatoes, those aren't special enough for Sherlock hugs. I'm not prepared." He closed his eyes anyway, nuzzling his face into Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock buries his nose in John's hair and smiles. "You caught me, John Watson. I care about you."

"Good, because I was starting to give up," he said with resign. He was too exhausted to play the whole 'wow I really have no idea what to say I guess we should dance around the topic for a few days before manning up' game. Instead, he just hugged Sherlock a bit tighter, a grin on his lips.

Sherlock lifted his head from John's, still smiling, although smiling wider from John's tightened embrace. "Give up on what?"

"Give up on waiting," he said, furrowing his brow and opening his eyes to stare at the floor.

Sherlock's expression drops to one of concern. He places his right hand gently under John's chin to raise his head so their eyes meet. "Waiting for what? You need to stop being so cryptic. I'm a genius consulting detective, John, but I can't figure you out if you don't let me."

John sighed. "I'm hardly being cryptic. You don't date," he stated. "I was waiting for that to.. well." He shrugged. "Call me a hopeless sap, but I don't really care to be honest." John winced. Maybe he could blame the fever later if this sounded too wacky.

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion. "You're not making a lot of sense. Be honest with me, John. No matter what."

He stared at Sherlock, his eyes searching his face. Twisting his mouth into a half-grimace, half-what-the-hell-can-I-lose, he pulled his head out of Sherlock's hand to nuzzle his nose into his neck. "I care about you more than I should, Sherlock."

Sherlock attempted to hide his knowing grin as he placed a hand on John's head. "Who is to say how much you should care for someone?"

"To the point where it makes you physically sick to imagine them involving themselves with somebody else," he said bitterly. "That's a tad too much, wouldn't you say. Then again, I dunno. I'm not the genius here." He sighed. "I'm just John."

Sherlock smiles as he looks down at the man nuzzled into his skin. "But I'm fond of Just John. You could say I care about Just John more than I should." Sherlock could feel his own heartrate increase at this confession.

"Mmm, no," he said, curling his legs in, "not too much. I'll take it." He felt the corners of his mouth lift up into a lazy smile. He could hear Sherlock's heart beating through his shirt; it was nice.

Sherlock ran his hand absent-mindedly through John's hair. "So is that why you were ill then? Just now?"

John nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty pathetic." He eyed the trash can that was sitting where John had previously been flopped, scrunching his nose.

"I don't think you're pathetic. But why were you imagining me being involved with someone else? And who was the someone else?"

"Actually." John sighed. "It was more like remembering... Three years without you left me in the state that a few weeks without Irene left you in." He closed his eyes. "I just figured, y'know." He opened his eyes, but looked down at his knee. "Most of it was because of how upset you got in the first place, and that I couldn't help, but there was something else there. The fact that it was her, it had to be /her/." He tried to stop his lip from curling, but.

"I'm sorry, John. If I had known how you felt before... I... I cared for her, yes. The first woman I've ever cared for, but it was fleeting. It was nothing compared to the way I feel for you." Sherlock brushes his thumb across John's cheekbone.

He raised his eyes, looking up, though he couldn't see much more than Sherlock's shoulder. That was okay, though. "Sherlock, the worst part of it was because I hated myself for being jealous of her. Because she deserves you, she really does, don't get me wrong. I wanted you to be happy, but there's a really mean part of me that decides to be extra mean when I think about it. That's the worst part, I'm so /mean/, Sherlock. It's not okay."

"John. She's in a relationship. With a woman. And what I felt for her is no longer. You want me to be happy. I didn't think proper happiness was possible for someone like me, but you showed me different. You are a light in my life, John. You make me happy." Sherlock, gathering all the courage he can for such a seemingly small action, plants a feather-light kiss on John's forehead.

John's shoulders hiked up to his ears, and he felt his face heat up. It would've been noticeable if not for the fever he was burning off, regardless. He moved one of his hands from where it rested on Sherlock's back, to rest on his chest by John's face. It was mostly to hide the small smile he'd acquired, for reasons he didn't even know. "Sherlock, I don't know if you quite understand what that meant to me, just now, the thing you did." His stomach felt all jumpy, but in a good way.

Sherlock smiled in the way that only he can smile when he gets an idea. "I might. But I might understand one thing better..." He tries to shift John so that their faces are level. Their eyes lock in a gaze, just before Sherlock closes his and leans forward, brushing John's lips with his own in a sweet, chaste kiss.

John stared at Sherlock's eyes, and almost leaned in to fill the gap between them, but the second their lips touched he became aware of the taste in his mouth, and he pulled away, now sitting up, and covered his mouth with his wrist. He hoped he wasn't blushing as violently as it felt. "Sherlock, I just violently threw up, you /really really do not/ want to kiss me," he apologized, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Nonsense," Sherlock whispered. He pulled John closer to him. "I /really really DO/ want to kiss you, and I have wanted to for a long time."

"But my mouth tastes gross and if our first kiss tastes like this I'll /die/," he dramatized from behind his wrist, smiling widely as he folded in closer to Sherlock.

"Don't die. I'm not sure I could handle that," Sherlock grinned. "If it makes you feel better..." He pulls a peppermint from his pocket.

"Do you carry these things with you everywhere?" he said, tilting his head before plucking it out of Sherlock's hand.

"I'm always prepared. For anything." His grin widens.

He popped the mint into his mouth, raising an eyebrow. "That so?"

"Isn't it?"

"Hmm..." He moved closer, settling himself on Sherlock's leg. Reaching up, John trailed a finger down Sherlock's nose, really just buying time for his mint to melt in his mouth. "Anything?"

Sherlock felt a tingle run down his spine as if that's where John's fingertip had just traced, and his heart skipped a beat. Why did this man have such an effect on him?  
"I should say so. Have you ever known me to be caught off-guard or to be unprepared?"

John chuckled, moving his hand to Sherlock's chin, running it along his jawline. "No, I wouldn't say so." He was, at this point, trying to take in as much of Sherlock as he could, his face, the way his skin felt, his eyes... He snaked his hand down to Sherlock's collar bone, and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, finally able to pull away from his gaze. "Sherlocks don't need preparation, though. You could be bluffing; you're really good at adjusting."

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat at John's touch. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to calm himself. His breathing became shallow as he felt his heart rate climb to a steady race. This was the most intimate he and John had ever been. "Maybe I am bluffing. I wasn't prepared the day I met you. You enthralled me," Sherlock reflected, taking John's hand in his, running a thumb across John's knuckles, softly. "You still do. You blow me away, John." Sherlock grazed John's knuckles with his lips in a swift, but heartfelt kiss.

"You absolutely amazed me," John said, smiling and rubbing his cheek fondly against Sherlock's shoulder. He felt rather like a cat, and if he had the ability to, he would purr. He pulled his hand out of Sherlock's just long enough to twist it around and twine their fingers together. The last time they'd held hands wasn't exactly on romantic terms, but.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile, gazing for a brief moment at their entwined hands, and admiring the way their fingers fit so perfectly together, much like a puzzle. He looked at John, "Is that so? Amazed you, did I? I wonder if I still can." Sherlock lifted John's head, once again, by the chin so that their faces were level. He stared longingly into John's eyes, trying to keep himself from getting lost in them. He leaned forward until there was less than an inch of space between their lips. His breathing shallow, his eyes almost closed, his whisper was barely audible: "Please?"


	3. Chapter 3

John swallowed, the mint in his mouth feeling heavy and bigger than it really was. He was really just thankful he didn't choke on it. He stared back at Sherlock, feeling like a small animal caught in a starved hound's gaze. Tiny and helpless. But he wasn't afraid; because the animal was Sherlock Holmes, and there was something about this particular vulnerability that made him feel safer than it should. "You don't need to wonder if you amaze me, Sherlock," he whispered back, "You do it all the time." He leaned in a fraction of a millimeter, his own nerves holding him back. "You are right now."

That was it. John's words were enough to break Sherlock's reins. His breath caught in his throat and he moved quickly, closing the distance between them at last. Their lips met in a fury of love, passion, and long-unused emotions. Sherlock felt as though his every nerve were on fire. He had never felt anything so exciting. It was a rush, and he felt completely alive. For once, his mind had only one thing on it: his undeniable love for John.

John's shoulders bowed forward; he was already emotionally compromised as it was. His arms found their way around Sherlock's neck, and he leaned into the kiss, deeply disregarding any personal boundary he may have set. 'No slipping!' Gone. 'You can't let yourself get too involved, don't get more attached than you already are or you'll hurt, John!' As if it never existed. 'Don't get worked up when he looks at you.' 'Try not to mumble his name when you've got him on the brain.' 'Don't passionately throw yourself into a kiss with him on his lap while he's sitting on your bedroom floor being Sherlock Holmes.' Dusted, erased, torched. Because John was doing all of those things, and it felt good. And he was okay. And he was smiling into the kiss and somewhat clinging, toying with a lock of Sherlock's hair that rested on his neck. He was John Watson kissing Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock found his desire insatiable. He wrapped his arms around John, pulling him in tighter than ever, one hand buried in the back of his hair. Sherlock kissed deeper and more passionately. It felt as though he were trying to pour his very heart and soul into this man, this wonderful man, that he was kissing. It felt like they were melting together, becoming one. Sherlock could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and John's pounding very close by. He was running out of air, but he didn't want to let go.

John, having up until this point been worried about his breath among other things, let himself sink into Sherlock's chest, his fingers curling around the fabric of Sherlock's shirt. He felt weak, and emotional, and stupid, but that was okay, because everyone was stupid, and according to Sherlock, John wasn't as stupid as everyone else. Which made him feel a little spot of pride, right there in his chest, the kind that can only be comparable to being the only one in the room with the correct answer. Then, when Sherlock was in the room, of course you weren't the only one with the correct answer. It was just John and Sherlock, they were the only right ones in the world. And that's all he needed. He broke the kiss involuntarily, gasping, and sighed contentedly. "Sherlock," he mumbled, not really having a reason for saying the detective's name aloud.

Moving his hand to caress John's face, Sherlock whispered back, "John. Oh, John." He gave John a chaste peck on the lips. "I have never been in love before. I never thought it was possible for me to love until you walked into that lab at Bart's. I love you, John. I do. It scares me and excites me, but I love you."

John's lips were most likely bright red from kissing, and his pupils were most likely blown as wide as they've ever been, and he probably looked like a hopelessly romantic, hormonal teenage boy, but he didn't care. He looked up at Sherlock with his huge, slightly frightened eyes and nodded, listening to what the detective had to say. "Don't be afraid, then," he replied. "Most of the excitement is in the danger, the thrill of not knowing what lies behind every single corner," he started to ramble, feeling his smile stretch across his face as he described literally every romance novel he'd ever read. "Love's literally the one thing that you shouldn't have to think about. It just happens."

"But, John… I've been careful to avoid emotions and feelings of all sorts, especially love. I've seen the way love ruins people. How it hurts them. It is a dangerous disadvantage. Thinking is all I've ever done. My head always spinning and whirling with thoughts and ideas and information of all sorts all at once. The first time it ever slowed to a one-thought-at-a-time track, was when I kissed you. My only thoughts were of you: holding you, touching you, kissing you, loving you, being awe-struck by you."

"Those are more of an impulse than a conscious decision to think," he grinned, explaining patiently as he nuzzled into Sherlock's chest. "Just try to let it go. Not love, obviously, I think I'd die if you did that. But.." He paused. "I'm not telling you to crumble any of your walls, Sherlock. It's good to have walls. But if you lock yourself up in a box, nothing good can get in, and nothing bad can get out."

"John, that's how I've always lived my life. Without love, I won't have to experience loss or pain. I just don't know how to handle this. I have never felt like this before," the inflection of Sherlock's voice made his fear and worry apparent.

He sighed, looking up at Sherlock again, to take his face in his hands this time. "Sherlock, it's alright," he assured him. "It's all alright. It's not some textbook procedure, step-by-step surgery." He tilted his head to kiss Sherlock's nose. "Okay, look. I love you, yes?" He ran his hand through Sherlock's hair. "And you love me, right?" He pulled the detective in, their foreheads bumping. "Then there's nothing to worry about. Nothing's going to change, really, Sherlock. We already live together and act like we're an old married couple. It'll be like clockwork. Promise," he grinned.

Sherlock sighed, "Okay, John. You do have a point. Or two." He smiled warmly. He planted another chaste kiss on John's lips before saying, "Just promise to be patient with me, please."

He nodded, grinning lazily, nuzzling his nose up into Sherlock's chin. "As ever always," he agreed, moving his arms to wrap around Sherlock's neck and shoulders. "It'll be right easier than before, though, I can imagine." He shrugged. "I mean, sure, exactly the same, only more open hugs, and comforting each other, and just being there- if you ask me, that's a really nice upgrade. I'll be patient with you if you are with me," he offered.

Sherlock smiled fondly.  
"Haven't I always been patient with you, John? Even when you're being an idiot?"


End file.
